People Change
by Kyrii
Summary: Times change, circumstances change, people change.


A short fic I wrote at some point late at night. This was done on a whim, and the only semi-decent piece of writing that has come from brain in terms of Witch Hunter Robin recently. Thanks to the betas for making it less crappy.  
  
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He never got used to having someone else in his bed.  
  
He would come home from scouting, from gathering information. His boots would thud across the small hallway that led to their room.  
  
Not his room, their room.  
  
His eyes would sag tiredly back into his head. His hair, drooping further into his face as his gloved hand fumbled for the door knob.  
  
He would turn the handle, the faint sound of someone breathing floating to his ears; a light puff, an exhalation, an indication.  
  
The warm homey glow of the small lamp by the bedside table would soothe his features as he entered. Basking in the light, her face would turn, her attention shifting from the book she was reading.  
  
It always caught him off guard. The way her eyes would light up, smiling at his entrance. He couldn't understand why his simple return would brighten her. The warmth emanating from her would spread through him, compelling him forward, his tired body falling into the bed next to her.  
  
More often than not, she would keep the light on and continue reading, her green eyes fluttering over the pages.  
  
He didn't mind.  
  
Sometimes she would already be asleep, or perhaps feigning sleep, he wasn't sure. He would be greeted by darkness, and the comforting sensation of a bed already warm. She never took up much room, and she wasn't an active sleeper, barely moving through the duration of the night, but after he had shed his coat, his shirt, his pants, and finally slipped under the rumpled covers he would feel her small hand reach for his own. He wasn't sure if she was consciously aware of it or not, but he would always comply, taking her frail fingers gently within his own sturdier, stronger ones. Sometimes he would stroke her hand, or chose to entwine their fingers. From his experience she wasn't partial, content to simply be connected.  
  
Even so, she wasn't very needy, never demanding much of him. She was a constant presence, but she never seemed to be really there.  
  
Except for some nights.  
  
Some nights he would awaken to find her curled as close as she could push herself. She wouldn't tug, or cling to his arm, but he could tell by the way her face was slightly scrunched and her muscles tense by his side that she wanted to be held. He'd been around women long enough to know when they needed solace; of course, whether he had given a shit before was up to him, and by his nature, he usually didn't.  
  
But she was different.  
  
He had denied it at first, refusing to submit to the tugging in his chest at the sight of her squished up against him, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.  
  
Pathetic.  
  
But as time wore on he'd come to accept the fact that he found Robin's sparse needs for affection endearing. He was almost positive that she would have liked to have been held every night, but her nature would not allow it. She had grown up to require the bare minimum, and he guessed that it even stretched as far as her needs for affection. She had most probably received little to none in her days in the convent, sufficing merely on faith and later, duty.  
  
He knew when she pushed herself near that she wasn't acting on gluttonous want for attention, but rather, actual need.  
  
When he would awaken to find her in such a state something would flare within him, something he couldn't quite comprehend; but at those moments he almost wished she would be needy more often, that he would feel her soft locks brushing against his chest, the dark cotton shirt she wore to bed crinkled against his skin. But he knew for her it would stay every now and then. If he wanted more, it would have to come from him.  
  
On such rare occasions, he would never deny her. He would roll from his previous position, scooping her into his arms and letting her nuzzle her face against the skin of his chest. Sometimes he would feel tears; little rivulets running down her face; onto his body, his arms, the bed. The distinct moisture that told him something had upset her acutely during the day. Even so, it didn't happen often. She only cried when something was worth her tears.  
  
His hands would travel her small body, tracing circles along her back, knuckles brushing against her arms, anything to soothe her. He had found that she enjoyed it when he ran his hands through her hair. Her scalp was particularly sensitive, and she would shiver as he smoothed locks between his fingers.  
  
Once, he had awoken in the morning, sunlight streaming through the small dusty window to the right of the bed, to see her curled into a little ball next to him.  
  
Only asking, never taking.  
  
He had berated himself the entire day for not waking, and set it resolutely in his mind to awaken from now on at the slightest touch of her skin. Amon had never needed an alarm clock, his biological clock accurate to a tee, and he believed that adding one more item to the list of things to be abruptly awoken by wouldn't hurt. Breaking glass, footsteps, doors opening, her.  
  
That night, he had swallowed his pride and ventured to her side of the bed; spooning behind her and draping his arm over her waist in a quiet apology. She had shuffled a bit, and then snuggled back into his body, quietly accepting.  
  
They would awaken, Amon would go about his business, and she would go about hers. Their paths would cross sometimes during the day; they would sit down for a meal, or consult each other about various things. There was never any unnecessary touching during the day; they got done what was needed. But as he would watch her throughout their routines; brushing a displaced hair out of her face, cleaning the dishes, coming and going; he would take comfort that if he wanted, he would be able to hold her come nightfall.  
  
Amon never did get used to having someone else in his bed, but that didn't mean he did not like it.  
  
************************************************* Short, and to the point. Not sure what I'm going to do with this. At this point it will remain by itself, although if by some magical feat I get a random creative impulse I might elaborate/continue this in some shape or form. 


End file.
